The soul is craftsmanship, a complex filigree

The soul is craftsmanship, a complex filigree, One moment it dances in laughter, and the next, no reaction spree. It's the secretive goldsmith of emotions we weave day by day, With wings of thoughts, while the tiniest feelings can make the balance sway. Upon us, the eave of the sky sometimes heavily lies, And yet, we resist, with a shield of will, under the stars and fogs that rise. I fear, I do not possess this strength, I’m framed elsewhere, My fluctuations are an ocean, with extreme waves, harsh and without spare. My temperament battles with sensitivity in a vast sea, A fight not at all easy, for the soul, it's nearly a calamity. It's deeply etched in my essence, as fate has inscribed, And perhaps it empowers me, to shape into words all that I've imbibed. Protect me, humor, from too much honesty, You are my shield daily, my safety strategy. But empty would my universe be, if poetry had none to hear, Without friends to share verse, life would be just a silent theater, drear.